


can we be strong

by truth_seeker_1789



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angst, Angst and Feels, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Fights, Gen, POV Second Person, Reader Helps the Winchesters (Supernatural), Reader-Insert, Regret, Regretful Castiel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester - Freeform, Seraph Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-04-21 08:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22053493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truth_seeker_1789/pseuds/truth_seeker_1789
Summary: alone at a bar, you reflect on your relationship and wonder if it has finally run its course.
Relationships: Castiel (Supernatural)/Reader, Castiel (Supernatural)/You, Castiel/Reader, Castiel/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	can we be strong

*

  
  
  
You couldn't recall the name of the bar, couldn't recall exactly how far you had run to get away from the motel, away from the worried faces, away from him.

  
A quiet exchange of words, a conflict of interests, misplaced accusations-

  
His calm features had clouded over in the course of mere seconds, your own temper rising to greet it.

  
Always the strategist, always the warrior-

  
He chose the words that would cripple you, two rapid-fire strikes that ripped all fight from you, left you struggling to find purchase of any kind in your surroundings.

  
There was no mercy in his eyes, only the cold, calculatory, cerulean Celestial glare that had witnessed the Great Flood, that had surveyed the siege on Bahgdad. He was unaffected by how his own words had wounded you, expression passive as you felt your control slipping away, moisture limiting your perception, a chill carving deep in your bones.

  
You had rushed away, barely thinking to grab your jacket and wallet before rushing out into the fogged evening, boots pounding against asphalt and cement and grass as you kept running, desperate to put as much distance between you and Castiel as physically possible.

  
You had heard Sam's voice calling out to you, his own footsteps fading away as you kept going, adrenaline and pain propelling you to a reckless speed you would not have considered in any other scenario.

  
You kept running, constantly rubbing at your eyes in effort to stop your tears, his words replaying in your head in a steady refrain, shards digging deeper and deeper with each repetition.

  
You tried to reassure yourself; Castiel couldn't have meant any of it. He must have spoken out of anger, using the dirtiest form of self-defence to stop you from hurting him.

  
The logic had you slowing, steadily reducing your speed to a stroll, awareness coming back to you.

  
He loved you.

  
It wasn't intentional.

  
He loved you.

  
He didn't mean it.

  
He loved you.

  
But that didn't mean that his words hadn't hurt.

  
If you knew the Seraph, his face had most likely crumbled almost immediately after your departure, regret consuming him before you had even made it past the parking lot.

  
Dean probably was giving him the lecture of the millennium, and Sam undoubtedly was worrying beyond all comprehension.

  
You felt your head droop, eyes studying the sidewalk as you continued to walk on.

  
There had been a time when Castiel had been the skip to your pulse, when his smile alone could make you feel as if you could fly, when the blue of his eyes was the only colour you would dream of.

  
There was a time- years ago, now- when you had both tumbled awkwardly into the beginnings of your relationship, tripping over your words and unable to meet each other's eyes whenever you would hold hands.

  
You had both grown together- you into an adept Hunter, he into a more autonomous Being- every battle you faced together an intricate dance routine easier than breathing.

  
Like an idiot, you had ignored the signs of his discontent, had feigned ignorance of his increasing irritability, pretended the sparks of irritation igniting infernos out of formerly pleasant banter weren't born from a deeper problem.

  
The orange glow of neon caught your attention, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and the rumble of classic country successfully snagging your interest.

  
A drink. A moment to think.

  
Water was the only thing you craved, and soon you found yourself sitting in one of the black stools, arms folded under you as you rested your elbows on the counter, your corner of the room cast in soft blue light.

  
Why had you let things spiral so far out of control?

  
If you had just talked to him-

  
When had you reached the point in your relationship when you felt it easier to keep things quiet, as opposed to the beginning when you could so clearly, freely, openly share everything with one another?

  
You couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he decided you were no longer worth the effort, if he was finally through masquerading.

  
Where would it leave you?

  
Where would you be now, if he hadn't been there with you for all these years?

  
Where would he be, if you hadn't fought so hard to save him?

  
The thought teased a fresh bout of tears, and you quickly downed several swallows of your drink to contain them.

  
With the passing hour, you slowly came back to yourself, dragging the tattered fragments of your pride back to where they belonged.

  
The boys were probably having a field day; you noticed with bemusement that you had forgotten your phone in all the emotional chaos.

  
You requested one more drink- this time a soda- and fell back into your seat with a sigh, eyes closing as you whispered his name, a prayer and a plea woven together into one.

  
You were unsurprised to find that he had yet to arrive; perhaps he had finally reached his breaking point.

  
The thought elicited a bitter laugh, falling past your lips as you once more slouched over the counter, studying your reflection in the glossy finish.

  
Tomorrow, you decided, you would try to make your apologies.

  
Tomorrow, you would demand his.

  
Tomorrow, you would finally have the conversation both of you had been avoiding for months.

  
That was, of course, if your head would let you move past his final words to you, would let you finish the night with some sort of sanity.

  
You were on the cusp of considering another motel when you felt his presence, years of living with him having long ago attuned your senses to the space he occupied, to the sounds of his feet on the floor, to the way the world would shudder so slightly with his arrival.

  
Unwilling to abandon your comfort entirely, you only turned your head to face him, features softening as you took in his haggard appearance.

  
He breathed out your name, the regret in his shoulders and the furrow of his brow earning your forgiveness before he could even request it.

  
Who were you kidding; you would forgive him for casting all the stars from the sky if he asked it of you.

  
You offered a watery smile, gesturing to the empty stool beside you, the weight on your shoulders lifting significantly when he accepted the invitation.

  
Together, you had weathered worse storms than this, had vanquished demons far more formidable, conquered monsters far more powerful.

  
The conversation ahead would hurt, undoubtedly.

  
There was a chance that you had lost the opportunity to talk things through, that the words he had chosen to cut you wouldn't scar over entirely, that this December-mayfly romance had already met its end.

  
But dammit all-

  
You were selfish.

  
You were going to hang onto Castiel for as long as you could.

  
Forever, hopefully.  
  
  
  


*

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another song sprint, this one set to Cold War Kids' "Can We Hang On."
> 
> One of these days, I will write some actual fluff for Cas, but apparently it is not this day.
> 
> Knowing how stubborn said Seraph can be, I'm sure that there will be a good post scene after this. Maybe at some point, I'll go back and add a short sequel.
> 
> Thanks for reading.
> 
> Comments are love. Comments are life.


End file.
